


The Haunting of Hyperion House

by underwater_owl



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: AU, Haunted Houses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwater_owl/pseuds/underwater_owl
Summary: A short little fic for the Penumbra mini bang.  AU where Juno Steel is a PI- that is, Paranormal Investigator.  He comes upon Rex Glass in a haunted house one fine evening.





	The Haunting of Hyperion House

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my art partner Ezra (twitter! @_SalamanderKing) who drew the gorgeous piece of art you're going to see embedded below, and was a patient rockstar while work ate me alive.

Juno Steel, PI, leans against the pole of the streetlight outside of the old house and lights another cigarette off the cherry of the last. It’s his third so far. Smoke curls up around him and his breath turns to mist when he heaves out a sigh. How much longer can he reasonably procrastinate before going in? 

The sun is setting, low enough in the sky to paint everything a warm shade of orange. Where the windows in the house are still glass, and not hastily nailed on plywood, the glass reflects practically crimson. Lit up like this, the paint seems not to peel; the vines climbing up the walls look picturesque, not like a sign of neglect. The deep shadows cast on the porch disguise how much the old wood sags. The house looks just like Juno remembers it in its’ heyday. The front walkway stretches out in front of it like a red brick tongue. What kind of sign is he waiting for?

Above him, the incandescent bulb on the lamp tinkles briefly, then flicks on with an audible thrum, casting his shadow in tight underneath his feet. The wind picks up.

Good as anything, Juno supposes. He breathes out, long and hard, takes a last drag, and flicks the cigarette away, barely touched, before crossing the road and starting up the walkway to the house.

Juno circles first around back of the place, stepping through overgrown brambles and pushing past hedges. The rosebushes in the back garden have flourished, wild and riotous, and there are small stone statues of children and cherubim tucked among them. The back porch looks just as precarious as the front, and from here Juno can see a big red sticker smacked over the frame, announcing that the place is condemned. When the light goes at this time of year, it goes fast, and it’s half-dark already on this side of the building. 

Juno glances up to peer at the house windows, and feels his stomach twist when he notices in one the shape of a silhouette looking back at him, a figure he definitely does not recognize.

Juno Steel, PI (paranormal investigator) has come to the right place. He lifts his camera to take a picture, and just about jumps out of his skin when his phone rings instead. _Someone_ has changed the ringtone again, _When there’s something strange- in the neighbourhood-_

“Rita,” he says, without preamble, and glances back up at the window. The shape in the window is gone. He goes to the camera instead, and cues up the previous photo.

“Hi Mister Steel! Just calling with news about your calendar for tomorrow. I know you don’t love coming into office right after you’ve been out to the very scary house, but Mrs Marsden is back with her possessed teaset. Said a cup bit her right on the nose this time. Can you believe it, boss?”

“No, Rita. I honestly, honestly, can’t.”

Juno listens with one ear, holding his phone between his cheek and his shoulder while he lifts the camera up and zooms in on the window in question.

“Well, I gave her an appointment at eight am.”

The figure is blurry, like it doesn’t want to be seen, is pulling back in a hurry. He sees pale skin, black hair, dark mouth and dark eyes-

“Great, Rita, sure. And hey, while I’ve got you, do you think you could do a little more on the history of the building tonight? We’ve been looking in the seventies and eighties, but what if we go further back than that?”

“How much further back?”

“Like the history of the place.”

“Mister Steel, there’s nothing like that on the internet. Old historical records are all—”

“In hard copy at the library, Rita? Yes, I know. You have been to a library, haven’t you?”

“Boss!”

“Research is more than Boolean operators, Rita. But I’m about to go in now, so I’ve got like, sixteen more seconds of cell reception, tops. Keep up the good work, call you when I’m out, okay, thank you, bye!”

“ _Mister_ Steel, I’m the one that told you what Boolean operators are and I am completely sure you couldn’t define them for me right now if your whole life depended on it! The _library_ is—”

But he hangs up the phone anyways. The rest can wait. Trying to quell the feeling of dread in his stomach, Juno climbs the front steps, and reaches into his pockets for the keys. He’s just about to reach for the lock when the front door does the one thing he’d least expected. It opens on its’ own.

The figure from the window is framed in the doorway. The ghost is tall, lean, and pale, with black hair and thick-framed glasses, old-fashioned in the style that has recently come right back around to being hip. His mouth is a dark, pressed line and his eyes seem to glint as he takes Juno in, scanning him from head to toe and taking in his open-mouthed gape with a little sarcastic quirk of a grin.

“Can I help you?” He prompts, in the gently exasperated tone of the definitely-still-living, and Juno jerks himself out of his shock.

“Juno Steel,” he says, thinking fast and on his feet, “the realtor sent me? To conduct- um- the assessment? I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t think they were going to have anyone here.”

“Oh,” says the not-a-ghost, extending a hand, which Juno shakes, determining for himself that it is definitely flesh and blood, not corpse-cold, “Juno, of course. You’re a little earlier than I was expecting. Rex Glass, I work for the realtor. They just wanted me to be sure you had everything you needed for your work.”

“Uh…” says Juno, struggling to take this in stride. The other man is gorgeous, in a kind of avant garde, goth, genderqueer sort of way that makes Juno’s stomach lurch pleasantly. He doesn’t look at all like the employee of a realty firm.

He also obviously knows the effect he has, and Juno swallows to watch his smile widen, and lets the handshake be used to tug him gently inside. Everything about this is wrong, but Juno knows he isn’t notorious for having a lot of higher cognitive function when it comes to tall dark and mysterious strangers.

“Just what is it you’re going to be doing for us tonight, Juno?” Asks Rex, shutting the door gently behind him. Juno swallows at the sound of the turning lock, and stuffs the keys back in his pocket.

“So you must know,” says Juno, suspiciously, “as the realtor, and all, that this house is developing a little bit of notoriety when it comes to moving on and off the market.”

“Stories of smuggler’s gold and protective spirits,” says Rex, agreeably, “all very mysterious. People's imaginations run right away with them.”

“Right. I’m what you’d call a specialist, in this kind of situation.”

“A historian?”

“A paranormal investigator.”

Those elegant eyebrows lift, betraying surprise, and Juno prompts;

“Didn’t Sasha tell you?”

“She… played it a little coy,” admits Rex- if that’s even his name- arms crossing over his chest. “It’d be considered fairly unusual for a paranormal investigator to work for a firm like- well, like ours. Which is why, I suppose, she scheduled this appointment for this time of night?”

“And because it’s when we see the most activity.” Again, the eyebrows. Just what Juno needs to contemplate the night's work, a skeptic. “You know, I’m going to be here awhile. You really don’t have to stay, I can lock up behind myself when I leave.”

“Well,” says Rex, and looks like he’s considering it, “I should be going soon. But I just need to check a few more things before I do- we have reports of squirrels in the attic, and I’m supposed to see where they’ve been getting in, and then look over the plumbing in the basement and begin the winterizing, so the pipes don’t freeze.”

“Right,” says Juno, and unshoulders his rucksack, “well don’t feel like you need to babysit me. I can get started on my own.”

Rex nods, graciously, and slips out of the livingroom, leaving Juno to unpack, and to dial Rita. It’s always hit or miss, getting a connection in a high activity site, but she comes through loud and clear;

“Boss?”

“Hey, Rita. I’m inside.”

“I can tell, boss, you sound like you’re in a subway tunnel. But it’s good you called. I’ve got a couple of updates on the history of the building! This time it’s about the family that built the place! It was put up in 1908 by the O’Flaherty family, as you know. But this one’s an urban legend about the oldest son of the O’Flaherties, who’s, so the story says, a _pirate!_ Well, boss, the story goes, the O’Flaherty boy brought back some of his pirate’s treasure, some _cursed gold,_ you see, and that that’s what brought the troubles onto the place to begin with.”

“Cursed gold?” Echoes Juno, as he looks up at the ceiling. Apparently Rex is already taking a swing at the attic, by the sound of footsteps passing overhead. “You don’t say.”

“Boss, you’re using your ‘I’m humouring your farfetched idea, Rita’ voice, and I’d just like to remind you of the time I turned out to be absolutely right about the—”

Juno doesn’t even need to hang up on her. As the feet overhead cross nearer to his side of room, the line fuzzes, and goes all to static. Juno listens to the call distort as the floorboards creak, and doesn’t even jump at the sound of Rex Glass, clearing is throat and leaning casually into the doorframe, decidedly downstairs with him. Juno disconnects the call, and pockets the cell.

Overhead, there's a scuttling sound, and a louder creak of floorboards. Juno doesn't miss the way Rex draws in a breath, can see the wheels turning as he works to dismiss that one. Then there's the groaning creak of footfalls crossing the ceiling directly above them, each individual footfall clearly audible.

“Squirrels?”

“Pesky things” Says Rex, airily, barely disguising his breathlessness. Juno can't fault him. His own heart is pounding.

“You know, you don’t have to go up there with me.”

“What? I'm the realtor, Juno, it's you who you doesn't have to go up there with me.”

“They’re my ghosts.”

“They’re my squirrels.” Says Rex, and then flinches at the sound of a deep thump that sets the chandelier in the living room swinging. “Raccoons, I’ll provisionally grant you.”

They both go up there. The attic is accessed by a small ladder, and Juno manages to get up it first, standing at the top of it and searching for the old pullcord to turn on the swinging bulb above. The attic hasn’t been emptied out like the rest of the place. It’s packed with the leftover furnishings from any of the dozen families who’ve lived here the last twenty years- and longer besides. Rex comes up the stairs behind him, and makes a beeline, picking his way around the clutter and towards a pile of some truly antique furnishings in the back corner.

“Hello?” Asks Juno, and clicks on his audiorecorder. “Hello, is there anyone there who can hear me?”

“Yes, Juno,” says Rex, from the corner, glancing up at him, “have you forgotten already?”

He quiets with only a sharp glance.

“If there’s anyone here with us, please give us an answer,” says Juno, low and clear, while Rex does him the favour of not trying to make too much noise while he digs around, “If you can hear my voice, knock once for yes and twice for no.”

Rex knocks shave-and-a-haircut on the rafter above his head where he’s crouched, and Juno groans outright.

“How’s the wabbit-hunting going over there?”

“Fine, Juno,” Says Rex, glancing back over his shoulder, beatifically, and does something slow and easy with his eyelashes that makes Juno’s stomach flip, “any sign of that sign of yours?”

“No, and probably because I’ve got someone intrusively set on making it as difficult as possible for me to do my job.”

“Your job? Just how much are you charging for this little service? It sounds like a racket I should get in on, if you’re making real money.”

“You’re really going to throw stones at me about an honest day’s work, Glass?”

“Oh?” Asks Rex, still resting on his knees on the bare boards of the floor. He looks up again, glancing away from the box he’d been digging through, and Juno thinks for a second the ruse is over, before Rex’s eyes widen dramatically behind his glasses and he blurts; “Juno!”

Juno spins to look, just in time for that bare bulb on the string to explode.

He curses, clapping a hand over his cheek, at the hot sear of glass, and doubles over with a grunt of pain, ears rushing with sound, until he processes a hand on his back, and Rex’s voice repeating his name. The man has a penlight out, has the beam of the small torch playing over his face, which only compounds the spots and stars swirling in his vision.

“It’s not bad,” says Juno, doggedly, “it just caught me by surprise. Stop shining that in my eyes, Glass.”

“You’re bleeding, Juno,” points out Rex, quietly, holding him by the chin. He diverts the beam of the light away, living Juno staring up into his face. His features swim up out of the dark, materializing slowly, his lipstick, his glasses, dark against his skin, “we’d better get downstairs.”

“What startled you?”

“I don’t know, investigator. Might it be the sudden shattering glass and the room plunging into darkness?”

“You were scared before the bulb burst, Rex,” says Juno, patiently, and catches the way his mouth purses, barely lit by the flashlight, “but I guess that was just your imagination running away with you, too?”

“Downstairs,” says Rex, again, more firmly, letting go of Juno’s chin, “whatever raccoon is up here is probably rabid, let’s not push our luck.”

\--

They make their way to the kitchen, where the lights turn on readily, and thank God. It’s completely dark outside now, and Rex winces a little at the way the light spills out onto the porch and lawn. Still, he turns Juno’s face up to it, checking the cut on his cheek for signs of broken glass and then moving to pull a rubber glove out of a pocket somewhere and to dab the cut clean with a paper towel. Juno closes his eyes and submits to the treatment, trying to pay attention to the feel of the house, and not the sting of the cut and the scent of the other man’s cologne.

“You’re going to be just fine,” says Rex, when he’s finished, “nice and clean, shouldn’t even scar. Just pop a bandaid on it and some polysporin when you get home, and stop crawling around in dusty attics.”

“What does my doctor say about mildewy basements?” Asks Juno, still with his eyes shut.

“Juno. Surely this is enough of a romp for one night? You’re hurt already, and that could have been much worse. You’re lucky you didn’t lose an eye. These old houses- well, they can be dangerous.”

“That sounds downright superstitious. What did you see behind me?”

Rex makes a growling noise, and Juno opens his eyes.

“I don’t want you to get into trouble,” says the other man, intently, “but I still don’t believe in ghosts.”

Juno doesn’t bat an eyelash when the power goes. He just reaches out, and grabs Rex by the elbow, hanging onto him in the quiet and dark, enjoying with only the slightest smugness the tension he feels radiating off him.

“What, every time I say so a fairy falls down dead?”

Asks Rex, in slightly worried sounding exasperation, voice going a little hoarse.

“Come on,” says Juno, quietly, “I’ve got candles in my backpack.”

Juno sets them up a little circle of light in the livingroom, while Glass fights with a fusebox and loses. Apparently every other place on the street still has power, and nothing is overtly tripped. 

“So as much as you don’t believe in the g-word, we’re going to have to set some boundaries here,” says Juno, when Glass comes back into the room, and settles down on his knees on the carpet next to where Juno is laying out materials, “I know you don’t want to go anywhere, for whatever reason. But I’m also about to do the part of my job that is diciest, and if you’re going to stay, I need it to be on my terms.”

“Those terms being?”

“You listen to what I say. You don’t express any more overt doubt, not out loud, and especially not mocking any of the work we’re about to do. You don’t interrupt me, especially if I’m doing any kind of praying or chanting, and you don’t leave.”

“Why Juno,” says Rex, breathlessly, “and here I thought you were trying to get rid of me.”

“I was. I am.” Says Juno, and gives him a dour look when Rex laughs at him. “But we’re coming to the point of no return with that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, I’m about to draw out the thing that lives here, and I’m about to try to send it back where it belongs. And if we draw it out, and the one of us walks out of here before I do that, we could walk out of here with what you’d call an unwelcome passenger.”

“You think the haunted house is about to possess me?” Asks Rex, a little disbelieving, but at least he’s pausing for clarification and not dismissing Juno outright.

“I think that the minute you see something that makes you understand that all this is real, you’re going to want to run, and if you do, it’s going to be very real at you for the rest of your life. Honestly, if you hadn’t seen what you’ve seen already I’d just call the police and have you thrown out of here.”

“The police,” says Rex, flatly, with a glint in his eyes that Juno matches, staring him down over the flickering candles.

“They’re the least of your problems, if it already has its’ hooks in you.”

Rex breathes deep, and overhead, the footsteps pace, back and forth. Forth and back. 

“I’ll stay.” And then he groans, like he’s made the worst decision of his life, when Juno pulls out and unfolds the Ouija board.

\--

They sit together, side by side, with the candles flickering around them and their fingertips brushing on the planchette while Juno asks questions of the air around them. Rex keeps his word, and doesn’t let a peep out, not a single one- and Juno only catches him trying to steer the device towards spelling out profanity just the one time, which he supposes is about as much as he can ask for.

At length, he pushes himself up with a groan, hands resting on his lower back.

“So what’s the rationale behind this?” Asks Rex, still kneeling on the carpet, watching Juno stretch out with something in his expression that Juno could almost call appreciative.

“Thinning the wall between the next world and this one, I guess,” says Juno, “or relying on the power of belief and tradition to something something something.”

“How very specific,” says Peter, and frowns when one of the candles gutters out, seemingly in warning.

“Well, this isn’t a science yet,” reasons Juno, “no one really knows. All we can do is rely on what has worked and experiment with new approaches, and try to learn from what’s worked in the past.”

“Like what?”

“Rites of exorcism. Religious iconography. Faith and belief, whatever it may be in. Judeo-Christianity doesn’t hold the monopoly on dispelling bad energies but they sure do have a useful script for it that we all tend to know.”

“Right,” says Rex, again, and they lose another candle. Juno gives him a _will you stop_ look, and he sits back, chagrined.

“What comes next?”

“Do you still want to explore that basement?” asks Juno, reaching into his rucksack, pulling out his own flashlight. Rex is on his feet, lithe as a cat, grin stretching wide and irrepressible. Juno just hopes he can keep finding this all funny.

They head for the stairs, and on the floor behind them, the planchette slides over to the spot on the board marked _no._

\--

The basement is everything you could wish for as a paranormal investigator. The walls are as wet as Juno remembers. The staircase creaks. There’s a lightswitch, but it’s useless with the power out, and it’s down on the bottom step, so that when you come up the steps you have to do it with the black up against your back. He turns on his flashlight and plays it over the steps, then starts to lead his way down.

It’s a tangle of vent shafts, water pipes, and support beams in here, all surrounded by bare cement. A few tools litter a nearby workbench. A washer and dryer sit neglected off in one corner, behind a massive old-fashioned furnace.

“This is a mess,” complains Rex, behind him, stepping off the last step after him and turning his own flashlight off, heading to go explore some back corner of the room, fearless in a way that makes Juno’s heart constrict a little in his chest.

“Most of it was put in before regulations were regulations,” he explains, and steps towards the centre of the space, “and the blueprints are all wildly inaccurate. The crawlspace isn’t on any of them, for instance.”

“What crawl—” starts Rex, and then turns to follow the beam of Juno’s light to a small black hole, open like a maw in the brick wall.

  


The wall lights up neatly, but nothing seems to want to touch the shadows inside the whole. Even his previously undiminishable enthusiasm dims somewhat. Juno closes his eyes as Rex gets up and pads over, crouching down in front of the thing and reaching his flashlight directly inside.

It flickers and dies before his arm is through the threshold. _Finally_ he hisses, and turns away, looking back over his shoulder and at Juno, who swallows once and instructs him, voice a little dry;

“Come away from the opening a bit?”

“I’m going in there,” says Rex, quietly, but does as he’s told, and gets to his feet, dusting his knees off and meeting Juno’s eyes. Juno keeps the flashlight beam pointed directly at his chest, so he doesn’t blind him. The beam is just diffuse enough that he catches the flash of movement down by his knees, the snatch of something spindly and corpse coloured at Rex’s ankle.

The man drops, and Juno lurches for him, flashlight jogging wildly as he reaches his side and grabs him, hard, hooking an arm around him and heaving him away from the thing that’s trying to pull him in, turning his own light right at-

Nothing at all. Rex grabs onto Juno with both hands, then onto his own pants, which have a tear in them, and a wet looking stain that comes away bloody on his fingertips when he lifts them and holds them in front of the flashlight. The other hand bites a bruise into Juno’s knee where it’s clutching so hard.

“Back to the kitchen?” Wonders Juno, arm still wrapped protectively around him.

“It’s not mine,” says Rex, with a kind of fluttery matter-of-factness that Juno recognizes as the precursor to shock, “but yes, shall we go back upstairs, Juno?”

Upstairs isn’t much better. Every candle in the living room has been moved- from one corner of the coffee table to the other, two from the mantle onto the floor, and those each to different corners of the room itself. Juno doesn’t comment, just sits Rex down gently back next to the Ouija board, and gives his hand a squeeze, crouching in front of him, and meeting his eyes.

“Look, I know this is crazy. I know this isn’t fun anymore. But this is actually a good sign. This is the part where I do my thing, and then we get out of here. But what I’m going to need from you is for you to stay up here and not move, okay?”

“Shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, a circle of salt, or something?” Asks Rex, looking up at him plaintively.

“Do you believe in salt circles?”

“No.”

“Then that’s not going to get you very far.” But, considering him. “What do you believe in?”

“In a thing called love. I believe I can fly. I believe for every drop of rain that falls—”

“I believe you’re a menace,” says Juno, “and I am going to be right back. So shut your eyes and wait this out. Sing to yourself if it’ll help.”

“I believe it’s good luck to give someone a kiss goodbye, Juno,” says Rex, and the hope in his face is warm and good enough that Juno almost, almost-

“I believe good things come to those who wait,” answers Juno, with finality, and straightens back up, picking up his rucksack and heading back to the basement.

\---

As exorcisms go, it isn’t the best one he’s done, and it isn’t the worst. It takes a few minutes to drag the thing back up out of the darkness, and a few harshly spoken chants after that to shrivel it, hissing and spitting at him as it goes. He gets another slash across the same cheek as before, for his troubles, and a bloody nose streaking down his face.

He’s learned to carry a handkerchief in with his rosary and luck charms, and to always wear a black t-shirt. Honestly he’s getting too old for this work, if it’s getting this pedestrian. Ripping the soul of an old timey smuggler or whoever out of a root cellar should rate higher on his excitement scale than meeting a nice young man with an obsession with getting into back corners of haunted houses.

Still. Ghosts are a dime a dozen. A kiss for luck, that’s an offer you don’t get every day.

When he heads back up, Rex is in a better way than he imagined. There must have been a fair amount of howling, shrieking, thumping and rushing of wind coming out of the basement stairwell. So it’s a bit of a surprise to find him sitting calmly, cross legged on the floor. He opens his eyes at the sound of Juno’s footsteps and blinks once in surprise, but stays silent, until Juno clears his throat and asks;

“Ready to go, Glass?”

“Certainly, Juno.” Rex unfolds himself out of his lotus, and dusts his knees off. 

Juno breathes out as the power turns itself back on. As sure a sign as any that they’re done for tonight.

“Let’s just leave.”

Rex accepts Juno’s offer of a ride into town, only making a very small face as he slides into the passengers seat of Juno’s old beater. He plucks at the torn fabric of his slacks, and Juno offers;

“You know, I don’t work for any agency.”

“Sorry?”

“There is no Sasha-at-the-company. I go by reputation alone. It’s why I travel with a lock pick set. I might have tried the front door- but probably I’d just have broken in one of the side windows, if you hadn’t been there ahead of me.”

“Ah,” says Rex, “then I suppose—”

“That I was definitely not contracted by the realty service where you supposedly work?” Asks Juno, drolly, and spares a brief sideways glance at the man who certainly was not sent by Sasha, or anyone else for that matter, to wait for him. “No. I know you’re not a real estate agent.”

The silence from the passenger side is at least a little sheepish. Juno huffs out a breath, and wonders;

“You’re too old to believe in ghosts, but you still believe in buried treasure?” And travel with a flashlight and a pair of gloves, and wear head to toe black. It isn’t that much of a stretch.

“Well. We all have faith in something,” says Rex, with a philosophical shrug, pooling low and comfortable in Juno’s passenger seat, reaching up to touch the temperature control on the dash panel, and wondering, “you’re absolutely sure I’m not haunted, Juno? I’m not sure what I saw tonight but I am sure I don’t want to see it twice.”

“Well,” says Juno, “90% sure.”

Rex looks over and up at him, eyes bright and distressed, and Juno assures him immediately;

“But why don’t I check in on you over the next day or two just to make sure. We could. Also get a cup of coffee?”

That makes not-an-agent Glass sink down further in his seat, and smile, like the silver lining has made it worth it after all.

“Does chocolate ward off ghosts?”

“That’s Harry Potter, and you’re thinking of dementors.”

“Ridiculous.”

“No, that’s boggarts.” And he _knows_ Rex gets it. He coughs a little laugh- but not much of one. Not _enough_ of one. Which makes sense. He’s probably had kind of a long night.

He probably doesn’t want to be left alone in the dark, several long hours before dawn.

“But you know what does?” No answer, so Juno declares, after a beat, with perfect certainty; “Pie.”

“Pie?”

They’re coming up on a neon lit diner, with flickering lights in the windows and a sign that advertises, open twenty four hours. A single waitress is bussing a table. Juno slows the car, and takes into the parking lot, stopping them right next to the window- in plain view of a spinning pie carousel.

“Piece of ghost-stopping-pie, Glass?”

“Peter.” Corrects- not-Glass, apparently, and of course he wouldn’t be, why would a burglar give his actual name when caught at the scene of the crime?

“Piece of ghost-stopping pie, Peter?”

“Please.” Says Peter, with the kind of smile that- well- that makes you want to keep that person smiling.

Juno turns off the car.


End file.
